


And We Are Merely Players

by songspinner9



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Music, Photography, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Theater - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songspinner9/pseuds/songspinner9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments when various Avengers are affected, for better or worse, by a powerful piece of art in one form or another.  In those reactions are connections, between artists and audience, between friends and teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Are Merely Players

**Author's Note:**

> The arts have kept me sane throughout my life so far. They are how I met my partner in life and my extended family. There are gigs when singing or drumming a piece in ensemble or for dancers brings the audience to tears, and sometimes it's me. Through the last year, things kept popping out to my eyes and ears during performances I was in and those I watched, things that I jotted down on scraps of paper, knowing there was an Avengers fic waiting.
> 
> Disclaimers: The Avengers belong to Marvel and apparently now Disney. However, I'd be happy to have dinner or perhaps a snack with any of the team and hang out for a while. (I have no idea if any of the symphony halls in New York have rooftop access...I've only ever been on the inside.)

“The Avengers need to be seen. This could raise a tremendous amount of money for the Maria Stark Foundation." Pepper raised one eyebrow at all of them. 

The group stepped through the glass doors and past the bright camera flashes and into the lobby. Clint rolled his eyes and fidgeted with his tie. "Are we really that exciting?" He nodded his thanks at the young woman who held out a program for him.

"I, for one, am in fact exactly that exciting. Perhaps more.” Tony smirked and dodged the automatic swat Pepper aimed his way. “And don’t forget dashingly handsome."

"Your program, sir."

Smoothly, Bruce took the folded paper the usher was holding out and handed it to Tony. "Thank you."

Steve turned slowly in place, looking around with a delighted expression at the cathedral-height ceilings and glowing stained-glass windows, and the art that lined the walls. "If I don't like the music, can I just come back out here and get distracted?"

"I suppose we could always pretend to lose you during intermission. “ Natasha was absently smoothing down the skirt of her black gown, sounding pleased as she scanned her own program.. “ Oh! Beethoven's Ninth Symphony...I really enjoy the choral sections."

There was an odd sound behind them and then they were suddenly missing someone, a discarded program fluttering to the floor. "Tony?" Pepper sounded exasperated, and Clint moved quickly to put one hand on her arm.

"Go on and get everyone else to the box before things start." He leaned in a little toward her ear. "Something's up...he looked spooked. Let me check." Clint went up the stairs, figuring the roof was the logical place for his teammate to have gone. Sure enough, as he eased the access door open to the rooftop, he spotted movement in the shadows at the far end. The archer moved slowly and making deliberate noise with his feet, making sure his empty hands were visible at all times.

Tony knelt in the corner, pressed sideways against the bricks of the wall. His breathing was audibly strained, gasping and painful attempts at taking in oxygen, his silk tie and tailored jacket an inelegant heap on the gravel.

Clint eased down into a crouch a couple of feet away from him and waited patiently, keeping his voice soft and even as he spoke. “It’s 2014. This is New York. We’re at the symphony hall, on the roof. It’s Clint. Hawkeye. Just try to match your breathing to what I'm doing. Three counts in...that's it...1, 2, 3, three beats out. I'm guessing you know the drill? You’re safe here, Tony…whatever it was, it’s over and we're safe.” He continued the litany, and recognized the signs, the panic and disorientation…had seen it often enough in the bathroom mirror on a bad night. And he knew enough of Stark's history to assume this couldn’t have been his first flashback.

The inventor managed a tiny nod, his eyes still darting around the rooftop 

Clint carefully touched one gentle hand to a heaving shoulder and Tony grabbed it tightly without actually looking. "Just take a breath. Slow it down. Easy. Match mine, okay? In. Out. You’re safe. That's it. In. Out."

After a few minutes, Tony's wheezing eased enough for him to slump forward, spent and exhausted.

"You know where and when you are now?"

The reply from Tony’s free hand was definitely non-verbal, but enough that Clint grinned and knew Tony had come back to the present. “Yeah, there you go. Home and safe, man.”

“Home in New York wasn’t safe after the…the wormhole. Home in Malibu is gone, blown up by Hammer. Before that, it…wasn’t really safe anymore anyway after Stane. He said that this...the arc reactor… was going to be my Ninth Symphony and then paralyzed me using my own tech I'd damn well scrapped because it was so dangerous, and he ripped…took it out of me and left me to die. I could feel the tug and the click right through my bones and I can still hear the sound…All it took tonight was that one phrase, damnit, and I was right back there. Worse, maybe…since I don’t have the arc anymore and when I reached for it and it wasn’t there…JARVIS blocked the footage from everyone else, so not even Pepper or Rhodey know what Stane did first that night."

Clint frowned, sidetracked a bit from where he was still inwardly shuddering at the description of Stane’s actions, and watched Tony try to cover up the fear by pretending to fiddle with something on one sneaker. “Wait. But they know he’s responsible for the kidnapping and assassination attempts and all that, right?”

Tony huffed out an uneven breath. “Yeah.” He looked over at his teammate with red-rimmed eyes. “But they weren’t there that night until later. I told JARVIS to hide the footage. Not even Pepper knows why I ran tonight…she didn’t see…didn’t really need to since he was dead…” 

“Tony?” Clint didn’t like the look on his friend’s face much, and tightened his grip a bit to keep Tony anchored in the present.

“A few more minutes and the shrapnel would have torn into my heart. I saved myself. Well, Dum-E saved my life, after I dragged myself to the lab. It really hurt.” Tony’s hoarse whisper was barely audible. “I was dying. Rhodey came for me, but after I changed out the reactor. Agent …Phil…he helped Pepper get to us in time. He and his guys took out Stane’s men and protected her, backed her up.”

The archer blew out an audible breath of his own. “Yeah, that sounds like Phil.” He thumped his head back gently into the bricks behind them. “Total white-knight to the rescue, not that Pepper needs rescuing usually from what I know.” He turned his head a little to look at Tony. “You gonna be okay? I won’t ask if you are. Stupid question that I’ve gotten tired of myself.”

“I, uh, I think so. Not my first rodeo. Or panic attack.”

“I was actually in the circus, Stark, not the rodeo.” Clint said dryly, just to get a hint of a grin, and then released his friend’s hand to grab the discarded tuxedo jacket and tuck it around slumped shoulders. They sat silently for a while. Crescendos of music and swirls of strings began to drift up the stairwell, and Clint nodded his head toward the door. “We could head back to the Tower early. Or, we could listen to it from up here.” 

Tony ducked his head back down, still a little shaky. “I guess. It’d be good for me to face it. Easier up here, though. You…you’re staying, right?” Then he groaned, scrubbing at gel-spiked hair with both hands. “That sounds…incredibly needy. Stupid. Sorry.”

“That sounds like honesty, genius.” Clint retorted. “And it’s not a problem. I don’t mind, really. It’s not like I fit into this sort of crowd unless I really have to for a job. And I, uh, I haven’t been too thrilled with string sections since Loki…since he had me take out a bunch of targets where there was a concert at a reception. So we’re both potentially a mess and trying to avoid more flashbacks for the night. Let’s wait up here, put a bit of distance between us and the orchestra. One of us texts Pepper what's up so no one worries, and when it’s done, we’ll join everyone for the reception if we think we can. Other than our team, no one will notice we were gone. That work for you?”

“It’ll….be less….obvious if we wait here and then go down for the food and booze.” Tony murmured. “Although maybe not so much of the booze tonight.”

“Gotcha.” 

“It’s a damn good thing I’m not afraid of heights.” Tony said after a long moment, staring out over the city. “Not a bad view.”

“Y’know, the rebuilt Tower is sort of covered in high spots. Some pretty good perches for watching the world go by, actually. You built some of them for me?” Clint asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Tony answered him with a grin. “Have you found all twelve of them, yet?” 

“Yup. Once I figured out the first one, I went looking. Kept me busy for a while.”

Tony nodded. “Less thinking that way.” His voice sounded far too understanding to be false, and Clint flickered a glance sideways at him, just for a second.

“Been there and….?”

“Done that, yeah.”

“Got the…

There was a not-particularly-hard shove to Clint's shoulder. “No t-shirts. Just…no.”

“Right. Got it. Listen to the music.”

“I mean, “ Tony went on, babbling a bit in the giddy aftermath of adrenaline, texting Pepper rapidly with still-trembling fingers. “The Ninth is not actually a bad symphony, and I kind of don’t mind the loud and bombastic parts. The 1812 Overture isn’t bad either.”

With a snort of amusement, Clint shoved over against the other man’s shoulder a little, glad to see a bit of color back in Tony's face. “Yeah, that’s not a surprise, somehow. Classical heavy metal equivalent?”

After a beat of silence, they both chorused, “Cannons?” 

Their snorts of amusement matched, too, and left them laughing as the music burst into glorious harmonies below.


End file.
